DeSoto cab fetched me at 4:40am this morning, but my "plains, trains, automobiles" trek back to Manhattan from San Francisco began when my scary iphone alarm (clarion bells?) woke me from the dead at about 3:40am. I came in a fog and I left in a fog.
The plane ride was pleasant enough and uneventful. I read and slept. If I wanted to become well-read I would have to buy a private jet because that seems to be the only place I can concentrate. And what a delight reading can be, kids!
I go back to New York a year older, a shade fatter and a tad more unemployed. But getting out of town I find is always a REFRESH. I am keen and all list-making with it. I am ready to take that big bad city on once again and wrestle it to the ground until it submits. All bravado while reading a self-help book masked as a memoir so many thousand feet in the air. But still.
New York is hot and muggy. I take a shuttle to save money instead of a cab. If time is money then I overspent instead of saved. It was a long ass journey of a few boroughs and many drop-offs. I know I getting more like a local as I had to yell at the driver to drop me off when he was leaving the Upper West Side. I have no idea where he planned to dump me, but it was not anywhere in my hood.
The best vacations are the ones where I feel happy to be on them and then satisfied and happy to go back home. This was the case and as my browstoney, muggy, tree-lined, fill with mankind street unfolded in front of me, I was happy to be back.